


Intermezzo

by zuzeca



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Hunter/Prey Kink, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M, Movie Night, Oral Sex, Other, Romantic Gestures, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 16:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3699983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzeca/pseuds/zuzeca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes love forms in the spaces between the brushstrokes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Respect

**Author's Note:**

> A thousand pardons on the lack of activity on my M/OP fics, work and sick have been doing a number on me lately and I've been watching the new RiD cartoon, which is ridiculously cute and has distracted me with various fic shenanigans of the Grimlock and Bumblebee variety. X3 For now I've decided to compile the bits of fluff and smut here, with more perhaps to be added. This chapter was written as a gift drabble for [Reyairia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyairia/). Happy reading.

The stars are wheeling above him, brilliant pinpoints of light in a hazy river, a massive galactic arm. Bumblebee knows that the sight is an illusion, that in looking up he is really staring inwards, gaze directed at the core of a galaxy not his own, but no less beautiful and fascinating for its strangeness. It seems a night for spirits, for ghosts, but Optimus is silent.

The crunch and crack of underbrush, a heavy body shouldering aside vegetation, Grimlock clambers up beside him, still in alt mode, and flops down next to Bumblebee with an earth-shaking thud and a whoosh of air.

“Didn’t feel like playing video games with Sideswipe and Russell?” says Bumblebee, optics still turned upwards.

“Nah,” says Grimlock. “Would have snapped those bitty controllers right in half. Why didn’t you? Playing games not the mark of a true leader?”

Bumblebee shunts aside the thoughts of glasses and smiling brown eyes, “Not interested I guess.”

“Whatever you say,” says Grimlock. He stretches and transforms, the cacophony of shifting components splitting the quiet night, and settles back on his haunches.

The silence stretches out between them and Bumblebee pushes down the urge to squirm. He wants to ask something, is afraid to, but the cover of darkness loosens his vocalizer, the pretence that if he cannot see Grimlock then this is a dream and cannot touch him come morning. “Why do you…?”

“Hm?” says Grimlock.

“Why do you…listen?” says Bumblebee, and kicks himself because there’s no way that came out right.

Grimlock chuckles, “You mean why do I listen when that little racer punk doesn’t?”

“I guess so.” Difficult to explain, the pressing anxiety, the knowledge that he’ll never measure up to the living legend that he once followed, “Why do you?”

“You hear a lot of stuff in prison,” says Grimlock, instead of answering. “Rumor mill’s better than the newsfeed service really. It’s the POWs who have the best stories. Lots of stuff gets blown out of proportion, retold and refolded, but you can tell who’s telling the truth and who’s shooting the slag if you really listen.”

Grimlock’s optics glint down at him and Bumblebee clears his intake, “Is that so?”

“Uh huh,” says Grimlock. “Cellmate on the block, real rusty old mechanism, was always telling the same story. Must have heard it a thousand times.” He gives Bumblee a meaningful look. “The Battle of Tyger Pax.”

Bumblebee makes a concerted effort not to choke on his own ventilation and drops his gaze.

Grimlock laughs, rough and deep, and it sends a shameful zing through Bumblebee’s circuitry. A heavy paw taps Bumblebee on the chin, lifting his face, and Grimlock’s optics are twinkling.

“Anyone who got up again after Megatron ripped their throat out, I can follow,” says Grimlock, and it sounds so slagging morbid, but the way Grimlock strokes his fingers along Bumblebee’s face is sending prickles of static charge across the surface of his plating. “Anyone who’s seen what you’ve seen, done what you’ve done, I can respect.”

“Only respect?” says Bumblebee and the pitch of his voice comes out embarrassingly high.

Grimlock’s grin widens and then his mouth is on Bumblebee’s, hot and pleasantly wet, his helm crest scraping against Bumblebee’s, fangs clacking against Bumblebee’s dental plating. Bumblebee lets out another embarrassing noise and melts against him. Grimlock rumbles in amusement and hefts him into his lap, hands sliding up between his doors.

“Where did you learn this?” gasps Bumblebee, surfacing as Grimlock dives for his neck, nipping at the cables as he butts and nuzzles against Bumblebee’s chin, because sure _he’s_ seen humans at this in movies and cartoons, but if someone told him Grimlock would try to kiss him, Bumblebee would have gone in expecting part removal.

“Who did you think it was picked _The Notebook_ for movie night?” says Grimlock, sounding smug.

“You’re picking again next time,” says Bumblebee, processor spinning.

Grimlock grins against Bumblebee’s neck, “Yes, sir.”


	2. Little Fires Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ~~too long dear god it would not end~~ porn has landed. Many thanks to [AndromedaPrime](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/) for beta. This is for you, madam. *bows* ;3

It’s only been a few decades since he left for Cybertron, barely a handful of sparkpulses in the lifespan of one of his kind, but Bumblebee has already forgotten how _quiet_ Earth is.

The night is moon-dark, the reflected light from Crown City blotted out by the net of canopy above him, the tree trunks’ black shadows in the gloom. He lets his optics shift up the spectrum, out of the range of light visible to weak, human eyes, and listens.

Silence, not the hoot of an owl, the scrape and rustle of a foraging mouse, the sigh of wind through the leaves; the forest knows when a hunter is near. In the distance, he hears a faint rumble, an approaching storm.

He moves deeper, the clank of metal and the faint hiss of his pistons and actuators echoing in the silence. In his new optical spectrum, his own biolights blaze out in a riot of color, warning signals, invitations.

The thunder moves closer and he picks up the pace.

A flicker in the dark, slipping in and out of his sensory awareness, pacing him as he hurries on, and an errant thought sub-thread marvels that something so massive can move with such swiftness and grace.

No, if he is honest, it is not a matter of ‘can’. He has seen the same sham offered up a dozen times, from comrades who know the fear provoked by their size and ferocity; he sees bumbling gentleness for what it is, not false, but one mask of many.

‘Lightning Strike Coalition’ is not a name given in idleness.

But Bumblebee has faced the worst demons that their world has to offer, and he is not afraid.

A hunter’s bellow splits the night, echoed by the thunderous growl of the nearing storm, and Bumblebee breaks into a run.

The ground shakes beneath his feet, stealth gone, ambush sprung as a huge, heavy body hurdles after him. He resists the primal reflex to shift, the impulse for his wheels as strong as the need for energon, as instinctual as the moment he crawled from the Well, a vague and distant memory, and stood on his own two feet. He runs on, zig-zagging through the trees.

He tops a ridge and is momentarily airborne as he hurdles over it, landing hard and skidding down the slope, ripping through brush and young trees as he struggles to keep his balance. His spark pulses, his fuel pump a deep, heavy throb in his chassis. Behind him, trees crack and snap.

A quick scan reveals a labyrinth in the valley below, glacial boulders flung here before humankind was more than a glimmer in a primate eye, and he veers off, trying to shake his pursuer and double back, disappearing into the shadows of the rocks.

Dinobot or not, he is a scout sparked and framed, and Optimus Prime does not choose incompetent soldiers.

The sounds of pursuit drop back as he slips through a crack too narrow for the hunter to follow. He winds through the boulders, his progress slowed, but it does not matter if he can lose Grimlock in the maze.

He reaches an open region beyond the boulders, trees thinning into grassland below and pauses to scan the area. Grimlock will have to circle around the rock cluster; he’s bought himself perhaps a few minutes.

The scrape and screech of claw on stone and he jerks his head up, searching, scanning, where—?

_Above!_

He starts to turn but too late; a chunk of dark sky detaches itself and is bearing down on him from atop the boulders and Bumblebee has a moment of admiration that Grimlock knew to use his strength and superior height to leap over the tops, followed by a very real fear that he’s about to be crushed.

He’s not sure later whether he lets out an undignified yelp, but at the last moment those huge blunt hands lock around his chassis and Grimlock somersaults them down the slope, tucking Bumblebee into the curve of his body, tail coming up and around to shield them both. The world upends, spinning over and over, and Bumblebee’s fingers bite into whatever metal on Grimlock he can reach as they roll to a halt.

Bumblebee goes still, gyros reeling as the small cloud of dirt and vegetation raised by their passage settles. Grimlock slowly uncurls, letting Bumblebee drop down on his chassis. Grimlock’s plating is hot from the chase, and Bumblebee can feel the dual tattoo of his spark and fuel pump through his dorsal plating, reverberating in the space between his doors. Above them, the clouds coil and grumble and he shivers. Part of him wants to ask if Grimlock can take him like this, massive and bestial, Bumblebee’s face in the dirt of an alien planet and the spike that he’s so far only fondled in the corners of the scrapyard while the others are sleeping splitting him open. His valve aches at the thought and he swallows hard.

A rushing hiss and the rain begins to fall, striking against hot metal and raising small clouds of steam around them. Grimlock’s hand strokes down Bumblebee’s side, tracing the interlocked seams of his ventral plating. Bumblebee arches slightly and a small moan escapes him.

Grimlock’s touch stills, considering and Bumblebee opens his mouth to urge him onwards.

Grimlock transforms beneath him.

Bumblebee does yelp this time, a humiliatingly high noise, limbs flailing and frantic as a mountain of metal and gears shifts beneath him, sending him bouncing to the ground beside Grimlock. He sits up and stares as the final components lock into place and Grimlock stretches and turns to face him, optics bright. “What was that for?”

Grimlock gives him a frustratingly smug look, “Payback.”

Bumblebee wisely decides not to ask and merely scowls, “Get over here, soldier.”

Grimlock scoots closer, the pooling rain and mud squelching beneath him. The expression on his face is keen and hungry and something in Bumblebee’s core clenches, spark skipping. Even on his side, Grimlock looms over him.

“Orders?” he purrs, and blast it all nothing and nobody should sound that arousing. Bumblebee shudders and he wants Grimlock over him, in him, so bad that he can taste it, but the thought of so much mud and organic muck ground into his superstructure with all the force of several tons of enthusiastic Dinobot gives him pause.

“I…” he says, resetting his vocalizer and trying to rein in his frantic interface protocols. “In your lap,” he says finally and his valve throbs.

Grimlock regards him carefully for a moment, and Bumblebee wonders if he’s made the wrong call, if he’s shifted the course of their game and Grimlock is disappointed in this new direction. But then Grimlock cocks his head and smiles. “Okay,” he says, sitting up and reaching for him. Bumblebee raises his arms to help, pushing off, making to straddle Grimlock, but then he’s being turned, back to that huge, hot chassis, enveloped in warmth. Hot breath blasts past his audio sensor and Bumblebee shudders, a sharp, exquisite stab of current rippling through his array.

Grimlock rests one heavy, clawed hand between his doors and pushes him forward, onto his knees and then further still, urging his helm down. Bumblebee clutches uncertainly at Grimlock’s greaves but allows it, this exposure, aft and interface hatch hiked high. Claws trace the seams, pricking at hidden sensors and wires and the rain sluices down his flanks, washing away the mud he acquired from their earlier roll.

“Well?” says Grimlock, the deep rumble of his voice sending a cascade of tiny vibrations through Bumblebee’s array and he arches, hatch sliding open as he presses his face against Grimlock’s thigh.

Grimlock runs a thumb up and down the length of his valve, gently teasing open the folds, pausing a moment as though he’s looking inside and Bumblebee’s field pulses hot with embarrassment because it’s one thing to grind his valve against Grimlock’s thigh like a newly sparked bot still hungry for the novelty of interface, and entirely different to have that intense awareness on something so vulnerable.

“Uh, everything okay back there?” he asks, clearing his vocalizer when his voice starts to crack.

“Mhm,” says Grimlock, resuming his exploration, testing the rim of Bumblebee’s valve before sliding in the tip of a claw. “I hadn’t gotten a good look at your biolights before. They’re pretty.”

Bumblebee hunches, shoving his face further into Grimlock’s thigh because what is he supposed to say to that? “Thanks?” he squeaks.

Grimlock laughs softly and twists his claw, prodding gently at an interior node before sliding in a second clawtip to gauge the stretch of Bumblebee’s valve. He’s not wet enough yet and it aches just a bit and Bumblebee feels a sudden, creeping feeling of mortification because he has no idea if his valve is going to fit what Grimlock’s packing and he takes a frantic moment to try and recall the feel of the spike in his fingers, but what will that really tell him? He hasn’t exactly been exploring the limits of what his valve can take, he’s been busy after all and there was that one fling with Smokescreen but he wasn’t what you’d call impressive in the spike department—

“Hey,” clawed fingers tightening on his pelvic span interrupt the race of his thoughts. Grimlock’s voice is sharp with concern. “You okay?”

It would take more confidence than Bumblebee can muster to try to turn and face Grimlock over his own aft, so he stares determinedly at the ground instead, “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

Grimlock doesn’t answer for a few moments. “Fine like when Russell tells his mom he’s fine, or fine like when Strongarm says she’s fine taking Sideswipe’s shift for patrol because he broke a tierod trying a stunt jump?”

It’s so unexpected that Bumblebee laughs before sobering. “Um, neither, I guess.”

“So you’re not fine.”

“No, I…” it sounds so, _so_ ridiculous but he can’t think of any other excuse and he doesn’t really want to lie to Grimlock but he just, “I, um, you’re kind of, I’m not sure…I’m not sure if we’re going to fit.”

Silence, broken by the shush of the rain and the ping of droplets off their armor. Grimlock’s helm drops to rest on Bumblebee’s flank with a clank and he starts to shake.

It takes Bumblebee a full half-minute to realize he’s laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he says, scowling, because it’s embarrassing enough to be face down in front of his partner, he’ll be slagged if he’s going to be the butt of some joke he doesn’t understand.

It doesn’t help that he’s still wet and Grimlock’s hot breath and the rumbles of his laughter against Bumblebee’s hip are reminding him of other…more pleasant things.

“It’s just…” says Grimlock, clearing his vocalizer. “That’s really flattering that you think I’m that big.”

“I…” and slag it all he’s going to get right up and march back to the scrapyard because it’s utterly ridiculous to think of interfacing in the rain and the mud and he’s probably going to get a rust rash from rolling around out here and Grimlock licks up the length of his valve and Bee’s processor grinds to a screeching halt.

Grimlock hums in pleasure as he licks again, pressing the warm, wet flat of his tongue against Bumblebee’s valve before adjusting his grip so he can slide a hand under Bee’s pelvic span and rub against his anterior node. He’s cooled a bit, temperature settling after the excitement of the chase, but Grimlock’s persistent, steady and patient in a way Bumblebee wouldn’t have expected from him, ramping his charge back up, teasing the exterior of his valve while denying him interior pressure and contact. Bumblebee groans and rubs his face against Grimlock’s thigh, shifting restlessly.

A quiet, hydraulic hiss and he turns his head to watch Grimlock’s spike pressurizing, the yellow biolights forming a bright, crosshatch pattern up the shaft and curving up to meet at the slim, pointed tip. It’s more massive than anything Bumblebee’s taken, or can imagine taking, but the sight still sends a bolt of charge through him and he bucks into Grimlock’s mouth.

 _“See?”_ says Grimlock, and it disturbs Bee on some level how much it turns him on for Grimlock to be using the internal comm systems while his mouth is…otherwise occupied. He shoves aside the twinge of disapproval that indicates he’s been spending too much time around Strongarm. _“Not so big.”_

“Easy for you to say,” Bumblebee says, gasping as Grimlock pinches his main node very slightly. “It’s not going in you.”

 _“Fair enough,”_ says Grimlock, amused. _“But I’ve had partners your size before. It just takes a little…encouragement.”_

Bumblebee’s vocalizer fritzes as Grimlock pushes the tip of his tongue into him, toying with the nodes around the rim before sliding in deeper and oh Primus even this part of him is big, less resistant than a spike but Bee can feel his calipers hitching down around it and he claws at Grimlock’s greaves, trying to ground himself.

 _“Or,”_ says Grimlock, slipping his hand further under Bumblebee’s pelvic span to grasp at the spike straining just above his valve and slag and _sparks_ he can fit his whole hand around it, a gentle compression that stimulates all the nodes at once and Bumblebee bucks into it, _“If you’re still worried after we’ve spent a breem somewhere warm and dry and all alone, opening you up, making you slick, stretching you out till you’re so loose I can just slide right in there.”_ Bumblebee can hear himself making small, hitching whimpers and Grimlock’s hand tightens again around his spike. _“We can try it the other way around.”_

Bumblebee overloads. He doesn’t mean to, but he can no more stop himself than he could stop the statue of Optimus from collapsing—and slag it all not thinking about that right now—an electric pulse that ripples out from his array and up through his spark, down through his limbs. His legs give out, fuel pump throbbing, weight sagging into Grimlock’s hands. Grimlock pulls back and reaches up to rub soothing circles along his dorsal plating. His spike is still pressurized, but he makes no mention of it, his engine at a lulling purr, and a rhythmic counterpoint to Bumblebee’s deep gasps.

The rain has eased to a faint patter. Bumblebee shudders, resetting his vocalizer over and over again and despite it all finding he can’t say anything. He rests his helm on Grimlock’s thigh, looking at the spike near him, before gathering himself, reaching out, and sliding a hand around it.

Grimlock shivers, a whole-body tremor that shakes them both, but says nothing as Bumblebee takes him in hand. The lubricant on the shaft has dried, though it’s still damp with rainwater, and Bumblebee traces the lines of the biolights back the base and slips the tips of his fingers into the sheath, coaxing more lubricant to flow.

Grimlock goes rigid and Bumblebee almost withdraws his hand, but the encouraging squeeze on his hip urges him onwards. He smears lubricant up the shaft, testing the dips and ridges of the biolights, wondering what they’ll feel like, inside. Grimlock slides two fingers into him, slick and easy this time and Bumblebee lifts his head to lick the end of the spike, wresting himself back upright so he can take it into his mouth. It’s thick and awkward, straining his jaw and gagging him when he tries to go too far and Grimlock offers a sympathetic pat on his back. “Easy,” his voice is low and even, but Bumblebee can hear the strain, feel the minute trembling in his legs.

He backs off and tries again, grasping the base and licking at the head, slim and pointed and vastly different from Smokescreen’s. He takes the end into his mouth, sliding his hand up, spreading lubricant and his spark gives an excited pulse when Grimlock makes a noise of appreciation and shifts under him.

He wants to take him in further, feel that strength and power and let Grimlock use his mouth, but the position is too awkward, balance too precarious. They’ll have to try this again sometime, behind some pile of human garbage with Bumblebee on his knees and Grimlock straining to keep quiet and the thought of it, and Grimlock’s thumb on his anterior node, is enough to push him over the edge again, the overload less powerful this time, more of a hiccup than a cough but still oh-so-pleasant. Grimlock chuckles, deep and satisfied and Bumblebee prods the end of the spike in retaliation, dipping his tongue into the depression formed by the terminus of the transfluid line.

Grimlock lets out a startled noise and hunches, curling over Bumblebee and twisting his fingers uncomfortably inside him. Transfluid bursts on Bee’s tongue, overflowing his mouth and he gags, backing off and stroking Grimlock through the last of the overload. Grimlock withdraws his fingers and Bumblebee lets his limbs go limp, collapsing.

The rain has stopped.

Bumblebee stays limp as Grimlock lifts him, allowing himself to be maneuvered into his lap and tucked beneath his chin. His new optical range lets him spot the splattered mud on Grimlock’s legs and flanks but they’ll deal with that when he has enough energy to transform again.

Grimlock squeezes him tight. “So,” he says. “What do you think?”

Bumblebee takes a minute to mull this over. “I think,” he says at last. “We’re going to watch _The Princess Bride_ for movie night.”

Grimlock beams and kisses him, “Sounds good to me.”


End file.
